


Closure

by TheBoneMandala



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 03:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16110248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBoneMandala/pseuds/TheBoneMandala
Summary: ExAssassin!Reader follows Shay as he goes after Hope and, in the aftermath, takes her anger and confusion out on him.





	Closure

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting my writing ever and holy crap I’m super nervous, but here goes!

     “I can’t even begin to imagine what you were thinking!” He’d been going for nearly an hour, with his screaming and huffing and _berating_. Gist had made himself scarce almost immediately after the two of you had returned wanting to avoid Shay’s wrath, but you were sure he could hear him from the Morrigan by now. It was your fault, really, but what did Shay expect you to do? He was going after _Hope_ of all people. He couldn’t have expected you to just sit and wait for his return. You thought he knew you better than that.

     You sit patiently, watching him wear out the floor. He gestures wildly with every word he spits, and you can see his face slowly beginning to turn red. You wish, then, that you had something to drink. As enticing as you find Shay’s voice, and even his anger under the right circumstances, he’s now only contributing to a headache that is adding to your silent fury. You try to distract yourself with of a piece of paper on his desk, picking at its corners while your gaze settles on the embers of the fireplace.

     “Do you hear me?!” Your attention returns to him, a little too calmly for his liking, and your fingers still.

     “I think all of New York hears you.”

     You know you shouldn’t provoke him, but you’re tired and angry and hurt and worst of all, petty, so _fuck him_.

     “ _How_ can you not realize how much _danger_ you put yourself in tonight?! Do you know what could’ve happened if-”

     “I knew her better than you did.” The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them and you don’t regret them like you probably should. Shay’s mouth snaps shut for the first time since he’s entered the room but the look in his eyes tells you this is going to get worse before it gets better. You sit up straight, calmly clasping your hands together in front of you on the desk. His eyes hold a silent fury behind them but you meet them with an icy gaze that keeps him quiet.

     He doesn’t understand. Hope had been a mentor to you both, yes, but she was the one who brought you into the Brotherhood’s folds. She had been the one to help you escape the confines of your family and their much too traditional expectations of you. She was the one to train you, to push you, to _raise you_. There were sides to her that she had shown only _you_. You knew her better than anyone.

     Until Lisbon.

     You weren’t there when it happened. She had sent you to look into new reports of Templar activity in Boston, a decision you now realize had underlying motives. You returned only to have things explained away as though your entire world hadn’t come crashing down. Shay, _your Shay_ , was dead and no one would give you a straight answer as to why or how. Hope began to keep you close, training you harder than she ever had, pushing and pushing and _pushing_. You were never out of her sight, her eyes always _watching_ , always _criticizing_. Every move you made came under her harsh scrutiny and she excused her newly brutal attitude with claims it would help you move on and focus. But how could you even begin to focus when you seemed to be the only one who actually cared that Shay had _died_?

     For the first time, you found yourself questioning the Brotherhood, questioning _Hope_.

     You kept your concerns quiet, opting to observe in silence. Time passed with loneliness and introspection and you catch whispers of _Portugal_ and _should be dead_ and _traitor_ and _hunting us_. A cold wall built slowly between you and the other assassins with bricks of skepticism and distrust and betrayal.

     Because they were clearly keeping something from you.

_Hope_ was keeping something from you.

     A something that landed roughly on top of you when you snuck into town for a few drinks. You would’ve blamed the alcohol for making you see ghosts had Shay’s weight not been keeping you pinned to the ground. He seemed surprised at how calmly you regarded him, but you’d had your suspicions about his “death” and Hope’s reliability for months. You listened to his story about Lisbon and the precursor sites and the Templars and felt an odd relief at the pieces that had started to come together, instantly accepting his offer to leave with him.

     You were inducted into the Templars a month later, rejoining Shay both in battle and in bed with your life finally beginning to make sense again.

     Which made this entire situation even more _infuriating_. Because he went after _Hope_. He went after Hope and _didn’t tell you_. And maybe in the final months of your relationship with her you didn’t know her as well as you thought, but you sure as hell knew her better than he did, and you deserved to be apart of this.

     Shay says your name through gritted teeth, stalking forward to lay his palms flat on the desk. “You could have gotten hurt,” he grounds out. You blink, your hands clasping together tight enough for your nails to leave indents on your skin.

     “Yes,” you speak evenly, “Hope seemed very lethal while she laid on the ground bleeding from her stomach.” That was what bothered you the most, not that you would ever admit it. You had arrived at Hope’s warehouse just in time to watch her final moments from the shadows. While you didn’t hate watching her die, you certainly weren’t pleased because she may have been the enemy, but she was still _Hope_ and there were a lot of things that still needed to be said between you. You wanted to know how she had become so desperate that she was willing to allow mass destruction for the Brotherhood. You wanted to know when she decided to disregard your entire relationship and shut you out. You wanted to know she didn’t trust you enough to just tell you the _truth_.

     And Shay had stolen that from you. Any closure you might’ve had was taken with a moment that was far too touching for your liking. You watched her lament Shay’s wasted potential with a hand to his cheek that he held with his own, an unfamiliar pit clawing its way from your stomach up into your throat as the situation fully hits you. _Hope is dead_. Just like _Kesegowaase_ and _Adéwalé_ and countless others that you would’ve once died to protect. They’re all gone and you know, deep in your heart, their blood stains your palms as much as it does Shay’s.

     You steel yourself, eyes boring into Shay’s. He never gave you a chance to explain yourself, only dragging you back to Fort Arsenal when he discovered you and exploding at you moments later. He doesn’t understand. But you’re damn sure going to make him.

     You sit for a moment, contemplating your words. Shay stares down at you as you unclasp your hands, with indentations from your nails left red and bleeding, to place them flat on the desk. You rise from the chair, standing to match Shay’s height and give him the coldest look you can manage. He takes a step back, still scowling, crossing his arms defensively. He says your name, stern and low, like he’s chastising a child.

     “She didn’t trust me,” you cut him off, “and I don’t know why. As close as I thought we were, she didn’t trust me enough to tell me about Lisbon, or about you. Instead, she hid it all from me, keeping me nearby so she and Liam could watch me, making me apart of their plans as a means to distract me.” You take slow, cautious steps towards the fireplace, your eyes never leaving his face.

     “And if she had?” There’s no more anger in his voice but his tone is far from friendly.

     “…I would’ve stayed. You and I would’ve met under completely different circumstances and…I’d probably be dead, just like everyone else.” You turn away from him to look at the fire. You run your fingers over the beads of blood bubbling from the nail marks on your knuckles, flinching slightly at the sting it brings. You’re not sure if it’s true, you’d like to think that you wouldn’t have fallen into the Brotherhood’s delusions, but your faith in Hope had been strong and with the right words you know she probably could’ve convinced you to stay. “It would’ve been a short life, but I wouldn’t have had to live knowing that she thought I wasn’t good enough for the truth.”

     “She didn’t think that.”

     He almost sounds like he believes that.

     “I can’t ask her now, can I?” You send him an icy glare over your shoulder before turning back to the flames. “You took that away from me.” The laugh that leaves your mouth is humorless and you miss the way it makes Shay flinch.

     A moment passes before you hear Shay sigh. There are a few hesitant steps towards you, “I…”

     “Sometimes, I wish you died.” You turn and look him dead in the eyes when you speak. It’s the cruelest thing you can think to say, and it’s not entirely untrue. If he had died there never would’ve been anything for Hope to hide from you. There would’ve never been an Assassin Hunter to murder your former friends. You would’ve lived in ignorance, but it would’ve been a blissful ignorance with people you could look in the eye without feeling shame and regret wash over you.

     But you know that eventually, you would’ve discovered the truth about the precursor sites and the destruction the artifacts cause. And you know no amount of sweet words from Hope would’ve convinced you to believe that such a massive loss of innocent life was okay.

     You’re feeling angry and hurt and confused and too many other things for your brains to process right now and while you’re sure Shay deserves _something_ for leaving without telling you, you know he doesn’t deserve the way you’re taking your emotions out on him. There’s going to be a long discussion in the days to come regarding where your relationship stands after your confession but all you can think about now is how seeing him just as hurt as you makes you feel better. This’ll come back to haunt you, in the end, but you’re feeling bitter and you’re feeling _petty_ and want to ride the high from the temporary satisfaction that his pain is giving you before you crash and burn.

     A knock at the door forces your attentions away from each other. Shay gives you a look that you can’t entirely decipher before he opens the door. He talks to someone you can’t see in hushed voices and the person leaves as quickly as they came. Shay runs his hands down his face with a long sigh. For a moment you can see just how tired he is, how much strain working against the Brotherhood has put on him. He regrets the way things have ended up as much as you do and your heart wrenches painfully. You almost call out to him, the words catching in your throat as Hope’s lifeless body flashes through your mind.

     “I have to go,” he murmurs, risking a glance towards you. You heard Hope mention Liam’s whereabouts and there’s not a doubt in your mind that’s where Shay intends to go next. Liam means as much to him as Hope meant to you and you feel sympathetic until it crosses your mind that even if killing Liam will be the hardest decision he’s ever had to make, he’ll still get the closure you never will. The realization only increases your ill-placed anger. He watches you, almost hopeful that you’ll say something to affirm that you’re merely upset and do still love him. You can’t look at him, tearing your eyes away as they start to well.

     “I meant it, you know.”

     You didn’t.

     He walks out the door.


End file.
